Warriors of the Sword
by Izanagi666
Summary: Based in a different Narutoverse, using Masashi's ninja system, Team Habaro are caught in a struggle that could possibly consume the entire world.


1.  
Kakita Noriaki

Kakita Noriaki toppled forward, his katana, still sheathed in curved black bamboo, went with him. His left hand, gripped around the sheath, lost a centimetre too much grip. Quickly, but clumsily, he retaliated by shifting his bare right heel to compensate for the faltered equilibrium, while his left took fortification upon the loam. The Wolf Spider jerked back, both mandibles dripping sallow liquid over Noriaki's entire weapon. Itara Sensei would not be happy. For a second or two, Ninja and monster stared eye to eyes, eight big black orbs reflecting his light blue eyes and dyed white hair pulled into a topknot.

He grimaced, yanked back and the spiders great wide legs crippled beneath its own weight. The thing collapsed into itself and quickly regained with all the nimbleness that a spider the size of fully grown man could attain, standing on its four hind spindly legs to screech. Noriaki tripped and his weapon flew from both the monsters and his grasp, landing next to the river side and his sandy coloured Kimono, neatly folded up with his Kokri Headband.

Noriaki took his stance, glancing sideways to his weapon haphazardly sprawled on the riverside.

Not only was fighting a venomous Wolf spider hazardous, but defending oneself, mostly naked, without a weapon and in bright white fundoshi, was completely embarrassing and made him a '_hey, look at me'_ type target.

The thing was circling, taking a strafe right towards the dense wall of the forest. If it escaped, no doubt it would come back with more. Wolf spiders sometimes veered away from their pack, but they were never far behind. He didn't dare turn his back on the creature. So he too, stepped sideways, ever increasingly shuffling towards his blade.

The thing lurched and then leapt. Adroitly, but too late, Noriaki dived for the katana. The spider landed, sending up earth, leg swiping and knocking Noriaki into the river. He immediately went upside down, swirling underwater; air pushed from his lungs. He took in a mouthful of water accidently. Choked. Regaining his sense of direction, Noriaki floated to the surface, coughing water from his lungs and tried to move his entire body. Swung his arms, shook his legs and poked his wrists. Even wiggled his pinky toe.

No injuries.

The spider was on the shore, still and silently watching. Behind it, the forest wall was shaking.

_Shit. Here they come._

This one was a sentry. A scout they sent to look for prey. They had found it.

Noriaki thought of doing the same. Calling for his comrades exactly like the spider did, but he was no coward. Noriaki would get himself out of this situation. He had decided on going for a bath. He wanted to undress and leave his blade behind and he had wanted to go alone. Shame on him.

But he was a man of bushido and failure was _not_ an option. Death was, though, but it didn't seem like the best one available.

He swam toward the spider. Confused, it staggered, knocking the katana into the air and sending his Kimono and headband downstream. It wobbled, turned and sprang back while three of its pack erupted from the forest, even bigger than the scout. Each had different silver markings on the back, long, strong legs smothered in spiked chitin with mandibles like a Wakazashi.

Artfully, he reached the shoreline with his feet, pushed and caught his Katana in mid-air by its long hilt. He spun in the air, saw the incoming mob and splashed back underwater.

When he surfaced once again, the large spider was facing away, screeching.

The earth rumbled. Vibrations scattered across the rivers clear facade and dust from the river bed turned it grey and dirty. Beyond the spider's gargantuan bodies, Noriaki saw _Daicho (Captain)_ Habaro. The ground around him was collapsing, his one green eye glowing, and the other red one dull. Then his Chakra took form and spikes jutted up as swift as a bolt leaves a crossbow, rock and flint piercing the spiders and lifting them into the air. He chanted as they went, higher and higher, then his green eye halted its shine and the red one radiated into a blaze. The rock spikes burst into lava, consuming the spider's body and scorching it into ash. When several chunks hit the ground, husks of chitin lay roasted, steaming and smoking, smelling of rotten eggs.

Habaro strode to the river side as his Lava cooled. His right red eye still glowing with Chakra. "Nori," He laughed at his own personal jibe, "you were fighting naked?"

Noriaki swam to the side and clambered out onto the grass. "Yes, Daicho."

"Where is your Kimono?"

"I do—"he paused, looked around. "-I do not know."

"By Izanagi," he sighed, "we better get you back to camp."

"The squad aren't going to let me live this one down, are they?"

Habaro wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed back his shaggy auburn hair. Around his neck, a garrotte scar, pink as babies flesh travelled from one ear lobe, under the chin and up to his other lobe, flashed in the sunlight. He brushed the ash from his light, silk vest and ox hide breeches. "Noriaki. You're all eighteen. I'm afraid that it'll be a thing they'll remember for your entire career. They'llmost probably tell the stories to their children one day and in turn, they'll laugh and pass it down. In some respects, you've made yourself immortal."

Noriaki cursed silently, but bowed to his Daicho never the less. Respect was due.

Together, they made their way downstream, across the crudely made bridge of beech-wood planks and strode downhill to camp.

The camp was a small camp compared to the usual. They were so close to the docks, and Habaro just wanted the mission over with that they had built it hastily, creating a small campfire from nearby dry twigs, while every sat down to rest for awhile. Habaro had left in a rush, his ears twitching. Alarura gazed around. Her other four comrades were doing their own work. Two wagons led by three ox were positioned in a crescent, protecting them against the chilly wind they blew in from the sea, some leagues east. It had the aroma of mud and seaweed.

Alarura didn't have much to do, unlike her teammates, so she reached into her belt pouch and took out the miniature hair brush that her mother had packed for her. Vehemently, she began unknotted her muddy red coloured hair. Five days travel did havoc to a girls hair. Knotted it, curled it in the most ungainly of places and made it impossible to brush. Not only that, but it actually smelt. She longed for a warm bath and her cotton imbued futon.

Their mission contractor, Takehiro, sat by his wagon, smoking his small pipe. His sedge hat was turned so no one could see his brown eyes, hook nose and wrinkled features. Only his long, slender grey beard cascaded down onto his sake-belly.

"Alarura," Soboku Kai said, his pale skin gleaming in the midday light, "not that I care, but you think Habaro's alright?"

"Not that you care?" She continued brushing her hair.

"More so the mission," Kai returned, never taking his brown eyes away. "I would rather not fail."

"You only hate him because he threw you off the hillside," Sereh interjected, his full white mask muffling his voice.

"Shut up, you freak." Kai retorted, barring his teeth, wrist clicking and cracking like bamboo being snapped.

Sakuuri stood up, her small, petite frame, blue eyes, and blonde hair unable to stand up against the two males. Sereh was whipping chakra strings from his finger tips, taking a fighting stance. Takehiro

was looking over, curious. Alarura despaired. Such a large team was always bound to get into fights.

Kuriyami, known and Yami to the group, was silent.

_Of course she's silent. She's mute._

"Who you calling freak?" Sereh said, quite passively. "Last time I checked, I'm not the one who can—" Everyone was cut short as Habaro and Noriaki strolled into vision, slowly cantering downhill side by side. All eyes drifted towards them.

Kai was the first to chuckle. Sereh guffawed and then everyone began the raucous. Even Yami, who couldn't laugh because she was mute giggled, her smile showing the little dimples in her cheeks. Small petite Sakuuri was the first to speak, "Why's he naked?"

Alarura wiped away the tears with her sleeves and stood. She brushed the dirt from the nin-vest and patted Norris, her white tiger kitten and secret to most of her techniques. His amber eyes were glazed over, studying why such a noise had broken out. When the kitten decided there was no danger, it curled into itself and fell straight to sleep, _again_.

Such a lazy cat.

"Right, enough laughter." Habaro screamed out. His hair was smothered in ash. Ash? "Noriaki got into a bit of trouble."

"I'll say," Sakuuri said, "What happened?"

"Pack of wolf-spiders," Noriaki choked up, "caught me while I was bathing."

Alarura smiled, "Seriously? Where's your clothes?"

"Downriver."

Enough wave of cackles and sniggers.

"Enough," Habaro called out, "we'll be leaving soon, pack your stuff, get moving."

Later that day, Alarura and the company made the docks by the evening. A barge big enough for the wagons was waiting, huge white sails opening out and buffeted against the wind. As the ramp came down, the entire group helped in calming the ox, readying equipment, bringing in crates.

Alarura climbed into the back of the second wagon, and was shifting crates when something glistened and caught her eye. Outside, Habaro, Takehiro and Noriaki- now dressed thank the Kage- and Yami were helping shift the first wagon on board. Kai and Sakuuri was guiding ox. Sereh had deemed this type of work too below him and vanished somewhere below deck.

She clambered over the linen covers, whipped it off. One of the crates had splintered. The lid, sealed, had cracked revealing glimmering silver underneath.

A ninja's duty was loyalty to her mission's client. But Alarura suspected something. She drew her Wakazashi from her back sheath and cut the wire. It twanged, echoing loudly within the small cabin space.

Curse the iron wire! She waited. Cautiously stuck her head out the wagons sun-roof. No one had heard.

Slowly, she shifted the lid.

Weapons. Hundreds of Shuriken, Kunai and small Tanto like blades. There were small bundles of sealed explosive tags, sunburst tags and Nin-scrolls. Gazing around the cramped space of the wagon, at at least another five of these crates, she sighed.

Takehiro was smuggling Ninja weapons into a country that had no military. It was a Land ruled by a Feudal Lord without a Kage. The Isle of Storms had been stricken of creating a Ninja system because it had sided with the Azure country in the Great War. Thus, this was an illegal attempt to smuggle weapons into a land that didn't deserve any.

Slowly and surely, Alarura pulled out her own iron wire to tie the lid back on and seal the container. Now wasn't the time to address the matter, not yet. When Habaro was alone, she would tell him everything. He was the Daicho. He would know what to do next.

Just as Alarura was attempting the tie the next line around the crate, the door swung open.

"What do you think you're doing?" Takehiro shouted, murderous sparks in his eyes.


End file.
